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Just Jill: The Autobiography of Jill Allen-King OBE
Just Jill: The Autobiography of Jill Allen-King OBE
Just Jill: The Autobiography of Jill Allen-King OBE
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Just Jill: The Autobiography of Jill Allen-King OBE

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Just Jill is an inspirational and moving account of one woman’s triumph over adversity and how she used her own experience of disability to benefit others.

When she was growing up during the 1940s very few people were aware that Jill Allen-King had lost one eye as the result of measles when she was a baby. Her disability was a taboo subject and she attended a normal school, progressed to catering college and secured employment as a cook. However, tragedy struck for the second time when glaucoma rendered her completely blind at the age of 24 on what should have been one of the happiest occasions of her life – her wedding day.

For the next seven years Jill barely left the house, too scared to go outside unaccompanied and afraid that she would never again be able to participate in the activities she loved, such as dancing. The birth of her daughter, Jacqueline, gave her renewed purpose but could not give her back the thing she desperately needed – her independence. It was only when Jill got her first guide dog that she began to rediscover the world outside her front door and take those first giant steps towards regaining her confidence and freedom.

Jill’s autobiography charts her journey from partially sighted child to totally blind adult and beyond, a process of readjusting and learning through grit and determination and then using her knowledge and experience to do everything in her power to help others and to campaign for reforms to secure a safer, fairer and more disability-aware environment. It is a story that will provide encouragement to those that are struggling to cope with disabilities and also educate people from all spheres of life about the challenges and needs of disabled people. At the age of 70, Jill continues to fight for the cause, and hopefully her story will inspire others to take up the baton.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateNov 22, 2011
ISBN9781908548337
Just Jill: The Autobiography of Jill Allen-King OBE

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    Just Jill - Jill Allen-King OBE

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    My Childhood

    My grandparents, Pauline and Alfred Griffith, lived at 112, Southbury Road, Enfield, Middlesex. They were first cousins when they were married. They had three children, the first being my father, Alfred, born in 1910, followed by Connie and Bernard, born three years apart. My grandparents had a holiday home on Canvey Island in Essex, which was called ‘Dickies Nook’, and I can remember many happy holidays there. To reach Canvey you travel through Benfleet, so when my parents were looking for somewhere to live when they married in 1937 they had become acquainted with that area and bought a two-bedroom bungalow in Philmead Road, Benfleet, where they lived until 1952 before moving to Southview Road.

    My mother, Maudie Clarke, had lived in Ponders End with her aunt and uncle, Maud and Sid Jefferies, who had brought her up following the death of her mother when she was only 12 years old. Her mother, Miriam, had spent her final seven years in a mental hospital, having suffered a breakdown following the loss of her husband in 1917 during the First World War. His name, Stanley Able Clarke, is on the Cenotaph in Golders Green in London. In those days there was no treatment for psychiatric illnesses, and my mother never got over not having a mother and father to bring her up.

    Mum was only 15 when she met my dad, who was 18. He looked after her and eventually married her when she was 22, the ceremony taking place at Enfield Methodist Church on 18th September 1937. I was already on the way when war broke out in 1939 and my dad joined the army. 

    It was snowing heavily when my mother went into labour and had to travel by bus to Southend Hospital, where I was born on 10 March 1940. I was actually due to make my arrival on 1st March, St David’s Day, and my mum and dad had been hoping for a son, whom they intended to call David. So when I arrived ten days late and was female they were very disappointed, and my mum would remind me of this throughout my life. My response was to tell her how much I wanted a brother or a sister.

    I was born a fit and healthy baby and my mother breastfed me for many months. As the war continued to rage, my grandparents insisted that my mother should take me to live with them in Enfield. My mother did not want to go and all her life she resented the fact that she was made to take me there, the place where all my troubles started.

    My mum was persuaded, very reluctantly, to take me to the clinic. Just before my first birthday I was not well and my grandma wanted to call the doctor, but my mother said there was nothing wrong with me. On the day of my birthday other members of my family could see that I was very ill - I could not see to blow out the candle on my cake. I only found out what really happened on that day when my own daughter was three years old and we visited my grandma’s sister, Auntie Doris, who lived in Shaldon in Devon. She told me what had really happened at that time, but she made me promise never to let my mother know that I knew the truth.

    My grandma, who had a heart condition, had to fake a heart attack so that they could get a doctor into the house to look at me. The doctor diagnosed measles and bronchial pneumonia and I was rushed into Chase Farm Hospital. From there I was transferred to Moorfields Eye Hospital, where I had to have my left eye removed.

    My dad was brought home on compassionate grounds and, in addition to the trauma of continual German bombing raids, my parents had to cope with the shock of my becoming blind in one eye. Although my mother must have known that it was her fault for not getting the doctor to see me earlier, she always tried to treat me as though I had no disability. I always wore glasses and had a good artificial eye, so no one could tell that I was blind in one eye. My dad had a different attitude to the situation. He was very fond of me and was extremely upset about my condition.

    I am not sure how long it was before we returned to Benfleet, but the war was still on. At the end of the war my father took up his job again with the Cooperative Wholesale Society selling ladies’ shoes. He travelled every day from Benfleet to Fenchurch Street station until he retired through ill health in 1967. My father longed to have another child, but my mother said she had enough work on her hands coping with me. I also would have loved a brother or sister, not only when I was a child but also in difficult times such as when my parents died, which I found very hard to deal with alone.

    Our bungalow in Benfleet was very small, but it had a very large garden. We had lots of lovely fruit trees, so we always had fresh plums, apples and pears. My dad also had an allotment where he grew vegetables. Even as a very little girl I loved scented flowers, and I can remember a beautiful lavender bush that grew near our gate.

    The war raged until I was six years old, and I can remember the air-raid shelter in our back garden where we hid every time the sirens went off, together with our black cat, Blackie, and our golden spaniel, Sally. When my dad returned from the war in 1947 we had some chickens and had fresh eggs every day.

    We were very poor and so I did not have many toys. I longed for a doll’s pram when I was little, but my dream did not come true until I was ten years old, by which time I was really too old to play with a pram. However, my parents did buy me a tricycle, and when I was ten years old I was given a second-hand two-wheeler, which I was thrilled to bits with. I would often use it for shopping errands for my mother and lots of other people. However, I never rode my bicycle on the pavement, as I knew that the local policeman would tell me off.

    When the time came for me to go to school, the doctor at Moorfields advised my mother that I should attend a small school rather than the large school at Benfleet, so I was sent to St Margaret’s Church of England School at Bowers Gifford, which meant a journey of about half an hour involving two bus rides. My mother told me never to tell anyone that I was blind in one eye, although my condition put quite a strain on me. I struggled with my school work, as I could not always see what was written on the blackboard and had problems reading the small print in books, and I was always very unhappy every morning when my mother left me at the school.

    Despite the difficulties of being at an ordinary school without any special help for me as a partially sighted child, I was pleased that I had not been sent away to a special school. Although I probably would have learnt a lot more academically, I would have been away from my family for most of the year and would have missed growing up in my local community. If Low Vision Aids had been made available to me I know that I would have learnt much more than I did, and I was very upset when I did not pass the scholarship.

    Fortunately the St Margaret’s school building was single storey and quite small, and each classroom door was a different colour, which made it easy for me to get around. I can remember there was a long step in front of the doorway that had a white line running along the edge, which stopped me from falling up and down it, and my first teacher, Miss Balham, allowed me to sit at the front of the class.

    I lived too far away to go home at lunchtime, so I always had a hot cooked dinner at school, which I loved – so much so that I would try to get second helpings. The cook was called Mrs Mitchell, and I would go and stand at the kitchen door and watch her preparing the dinners. This was how I became interested in the catering profession. One of my mother’s aunts had been a cook at Lyons Corner House, so I suppose it was in my blood. In my last year at school I was the dinner monitor and served lunches to the teachers. I can remember being given a book as a prize at the end of term for doing this and I was so thrilled.

    As it was a church school we had a little chapel in the grounds, and every morning we had a short service there. I quickly learnt the hymns by heart and I loved that time of day. On special occasions in the church calendar we would all walk to St Margaret’s Church, located about half a mile from the school. It was, and I am sure still is, a lovely old-fashioned church situated next to the railway line. I still travel on that train route regularly and I often think of those happy days at that church. In the summer we would often walk home, going past the church and following the rail track until we reached our bungalow, which was only a few hundred yards from the railway line. In fact my father’s allotment backed onto the railway and I can remember sitting on a little bench there watching the steam trains go by. I never dreamt that I would travel on those trains as much as I have done and still do.

    Friends have meant a lot to me during my life, and the first friend I can remember was Adrian Eatwell, who lived next door to me. He had red hair and used to sit on the top of the fence to talk to me. He attended a private school and lived with his mother and grandmother. I could never understand why he had no father. David Cowan, the son of one of my mother’s close friends, travelled to school with me, and at the bus stop we would meet Barbara Taylor, who remained my friend for many years. Another girl who looked after me at school was Norma Hillier. She was head girl and I was very sorry when she left to go to another school.

    The headmistress at Bowers Gifford School was called Miss Ashton, but we all had to call her ‘madam’. She was very strict but she was very kind to me with my sight problem. When I was six years old I was taught how to knit and sew, and although I was not very skilled at that time due to my poor vision I did remember what I had been taught and made good use of that instruction when I eventually went totally blind.

    I learnt to read and write with my limited sight but chose more physical activities rather than reading, although we did go every week to the local library in Benfleet. I used to love looking at the royal family picture books, and again I never dreamt that one day I would meet so many members of the royal family, let alone go to Buckingham Palace on several occasions.

    The first time I can ever remember being on a stage was when I was about four or five. It was 1944, when my mum was a member of the local Women’s Institute and the wives of the men that were away serving in the war used St Mary’s Hall, Benfleet, for their meetings. They decided to put on a show and chose The Wizard of Oz. I was dressed up as a robin and had to do a little dance. At that time I was already going to Santoy School of Dancing, as dancing was my favourite hobby, and it has given me much pleasure all my life. I studied tap and ballet from the age of about two, and I also had ballet classes with Miss Blelock in Leigh, not far from where I live now, when I was seven years old. I passed all my Royal Academy of Dancing exams and I am thrilled that my granddaughter, Emily, also went to ballet and still goes to dancing lessons. I started ballroom and Latin American dancing when I was 18 years old, but more about that later. I was also 18 when I had my first experience of using a microphone to speak to a crowd of people. My mum and I had gone to a holiday camp in St Austell Bay, Cornwall. I cannot remember if my dad was with us, but I think he might have been at a Scout camp. There was a personality competition and I won it, so I became Miss Duporth and it was my job to compère the week’s activities. I also entered the fancy dress competition with two friends I had made there, and we went as the Butcher, the Baker and the Candlestick Maker. I cannot remember how well we did, but it was all good fun.

    As well as dancing, music also played a big part in my family’s life. My grandfather, great-grandfather and great-great-great-grandfather all worked for Boosey & Hawkes, the music company, making musical instruments and also playing them in the Enfield Brass Band. My mother could play the piano well, and I started to learn it too when I was about eight, but after a year I gave it up because I could not see the music. I kept the piano after losing my sight, in the hope that I could still be taught to play, but my first social worker for the blind said that this would not be possible unless I learnt Braille music. As I had only been

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